seven
DUSK CREPT ALONG the streets by the time Edith had finished posing for Valentine.
The tunic she’d worn to pose as the Star Maiden had been more covering than she’d imagined, but the hours spent sitting and doing nothing had made her restless. That was why she went out for a walk with Daphne, then to buy jacket potatoes from a street vendor, and now she was again in a carriage with Daphne, heading to a club. Valentine himself would join them as soon as he finished coating the painting.
She reclined her head, wishing for the nagging whisper in her head to stay quiet. Doubts often tormented her and begged her to go home whenever she wanted to have fun.
Admittedly, after last night, she should probably spend a quiet night at home, drink tea, and go to bed early. But she could drink tea and sleep any night. Life was short.
She’d spent too many years worrying about her future, her studies, and her manners. ThePrincess Alicedisaster had opened her eyes. Perry had been right. She should enjoy herself while she could before her life was snatched from her in a moment.
“Is this Scarlet Room an opium den?” she asked.
Enjoying herself didn’t mean turning her brain into a bleeding pulp. She’d studied enough medical books to know what opium, snuff, and cocaine did to the body, no matter what some physicians said. An early grave wasn’t her idea of enjoying life.
“Well, if you want it to be an opium den, yes,” Daphne said. “The point of the Scarlet Room is that you can do whatever you want there, from smoking opium to drinking yourself to a stupor, to dancing and having tumbles in quiet corners, or in front of everyone. There’s something for everyone and every taste.”
Boring. The thought came unbidden to her mind.
For someone who wanted to enjoy herself, she found that almost every activity was boring or became boring after five minutes. Oddly enough, she’d never been bored when she’d spent her days bent over books of anatomy.
“The only rule is not to talk about the Scarlet Room with anyone,” Daphne said.
“How did you learn about it then?”
Daphne waved a hand. “Well, I guess youcantalk about it, but only with people who would enjoy it without judging it. Anyway, it’d be better if you’d keep your mouth shut.”
That wouldn’t be a problem. Aside from Daphne, Edith didn’t have anyone to talk to. The people she went to parties with weren’t really friends. Just acquaintances to have fun with, never to talk to or confide about the turmoil that made her sad sometimes.
But sadness had no place in her life; it reminded her of how close to death she’d been. She was young and deserved something different, something more exciting than worrying about studying.
She would never confide in her parents, and since Marianne had married that viscount, she spent more time with her new friends than with her sister.
The carriage stopped in front of the entrance to a narrow alleyway on the border with Whitechapel. A dense fog lingered, thick and motionless, as if London were holding its breath. The glow from the gas streetlamps created a sinister halo against the backdrop of the dark brick walls. Overall, the view was an echo of how she felt inside.
“We’ll have to walk a little.” Daphne jumped out of her seat with the same enthusiasm as someone hopping into a colourful party.
Instead, Edith inched out of the carriage, ready to get back inside. The air was thick with humidity and the smell of cheap ale.
“No need to worry.” Daphne waved her closer. “Trust me. It’s going to be wonderful.”
Edith doubted that, but the alternative was to return home and think about the best way to tell the truth to Perry. No, a foggy, damp alleyway where a felon might lurk was better; it promised to keep her mind busy.
They took the dimly lit, dirty alleyway. It was so narrow they couldn’t walk side by side, and Edith’s skirt skimmed the walls.
She nearly slipped on the wet cobbles as a rat rushed past her. “Where are we going?”
“Patience.” Daphne marched on, seemingly oblivious to the darkness and gloominess of the alleyway.
“Someone might attack us. Don’t you read the newspapers?”
“No, I don’t. They’re depressing.” Daphne paused, a hand on her hip. “Where’s your sense of adventure? You’re complaining a lot as of late.”
“That’s not true.”
“Last week, you left Neville’s party early.”
“I was bored.” Also, the fact Lord Neville was Perry’s young uncle never failed to upset her. “And he always hugs me, touches me, and kisses me even when I ask him to stop.”
